The Submission Factory

by Susanna Hughes

  'Yes, yes I do.'

  'And you do want to be warmed up, don't you Barbara?'

  'You know I do.' She was ashamed to say but it was true. She had no idea what part of her psyche had harboured this desire or why. If anyone had told her that being spanked would turn her on she would have laughed in their face. But it did. She could remember in graphic detail that first time at the party, how he had spanked her as she was tied to the tree. She could remember exactly what it had made her feel. She knew there were many reasons she'd wanted to see Jack again, but the fact that he spanked her was perhaps the most imperative.

  'Good. Stand up.'

  She did as she was told. He examined her body intently.

  'Very pretty,' he said.

  He had often begun their sessions by spanking her bottom, sometimes with his hand, sometimes with a cane or leather tawse, with her bending over with her legs apart and her hands gripping her ankles, or kneeling with her forehead pressed to the floor and her buttocks raised. She felt a pang of secret pleasure, her buttocks tingling in anticipation. She was glad her husband took little interest in her body, but even so it had been difficult to hide the marks on her buttocks. Fortunately they faded quickly.

  But this time Jack had something else in mind. He picked up a pair of leather cuffs.

  'Hold your hands out.'

  She did as she was told, looking up into his eyes as he strapped the cuffs around her wrists. She couldn't believe the thrill the feeling of bondage gave her. It was a feeling that comes with something forbidden, but delectable. Being helplessly bound also meant she could kid herself that she had no control over the things he did to her.

  'Now stand over here,' he said, indicating beneath the wooden beam.

  There was a white rope hanging from a pulley above her head. He tied it to the central link on the cuffs, then went over to the wall and pulled on the other end until her arms were stretched above her head, so she could only just support herself on the tips of her toes. He tied the rope to a cleat on the wall.

  'Much better,' he said.

  He picked up a red ball-gag and pushed it into her mouth, strapping it securely behind her head. It was uncomfortable and forced her lips wide. She felt a stab of fear. He'd never gagged her before when he'd whipped her.

  'Don't want the neighbours to hear.' He walked away from her and returned with metal clips, joined by a metal chain.

  'Nipple clips,' he said.

  She could see that the jaws were serrated, and when a spring-loaded clip bit into her tender flesh the pain was so strong she lost her balance, only her bondage keeping her upright. He applied the second clip.

  'It's worse when I take them off,' he told her with a glint in his eyes.

  This was a new sort of sensation, a burning pain laced with sexual tension, her breasts sending pulsing messages directly to her clit.

  He reached up above his head and took hold of a small length of cord running through another smaller pulley. He tied it to the centre of the nipple chain, then drew the cord taut until the chain was stretched and her breasts were pulled upwards. The pressure made the nipple clips bite deeper and Barbara felt her whole body tremble with pain.

  He knelt at her feet and pulled her panties down her legs. Then he took a metal rod with a leather cuff at each end. He spread her legs apart and strapped the cuffs around her ankles so she was unable to close them.

  He picked up a leather belt, split in two at one end. She tensed as she saw him raise his arm, and jerked as the first stroke hit her buttocks, the nipple clips pulled taut. He gave her four, her bottom alight. She almost forgot to breathe her excitement was so intense, reduced her to a quivering mass, with no thought of anything but sex.

  She looked at Jack, who sat on the bed returning her stare. He was still wearing that cruel smile.

  'Hey, she's really pretty.' The voice came from the door behind her. 'Lovely arse.'

  A woman walked into the room. She was tall and slender with cropped black hair, and she was naked apart from stockings and a pair of black high-heeled ankle boots. She had a narrow waist and her breasts were large, with nipples the size of strawberries. Her mons was completely shaved.

  'Do you like my surprise?' Jack asked.

  Barbara shook her head, but in fact she didn't know what she thought. Her first reaction was horror that any woman should see her like this, trussed and almost naked and so clearly aroused. It was quite obvious by the way she was dressed that Jack intended for the three of them to participate in whatever sex game he had in mind, and that unsettled her too. But she also knew on another level that her body did not share her mind's reaction, and that it had lost none of its capacity to respond to Jack's wicked scenarios.

  There was no question in her mind, despite her physical reactions, that if she had not been gagged she would have told him to free her. She would have rushed down the hall, dressed and run away. The idea of sharing him, of watching him with another woman, created a feeling of jealousy as strong as any emotion she had felt before. Questions crowded into her mind. How long had he had this other woman, and what did he do with her?

  But she was gagged and securely bound and part of her knew she was glad she could not do anything but stand and stare.

  'Meet Sandra,' Jack said.

  'Hello, sweetie, aren't you just lovely,' Sandra said, her American accent obvious.

  She moved behind Barbara and pressed herself against her back. Barbara felt her breasts, soft and smooth against her. The woman ran her hands up to Barbara's breasts. She cupped them, lifting them slightly to relief the pressure from the nipple clips, then dropping them so a new wave of pain made Barbara moan. One hand ran down Barbara's front and fingers touched between her thighs.

  'You and I are going to have a good time, aren't we?'

  Barbara shook her head. No woman had ever touched her intimately.

  'No?' Jack said, mockingly. 'If you don't want it then you'd better go home right now.'

  Barbara shook her head again, more vigorously. That was definitely not what she wanted. The idea of putting on her clothes and walking out of Jack's apartment was like a cold shower of reality. She knew precisely why he had said it. He was making her choose, not allowing her to escape the inevitable truth that it was her body and her sexual feelings, not her mind, that was in charge of her actions.

  'What, you've changed your mind again? Shall we give her another chance, Sandra? What do you think?'

  Sandra ran a finger across Barbara's breast until it touched a nipple clip. 'I love these, don't you? The pain is like sex, isn't it? It makes me cream so much it runs down my leg.'

  The finger descended. Barbara tensed as it moved down her stomach to her sex. It settled on her clit. Barbara shuddered. It was not just Sandra's knowing touch that made her react, but the fact that it was another female doing it.

  'She's very wet,' Sandra mused.

  Barbara saw him smile. He seemed to know exactly how she would react.

  'You want more?' Sandra asked, disappearing behind her. Barbara strained to see what she was doing, and saw her pulling a harness up her legs, adjusting it around her waist. Extending from the triangular black leather covering her groin was a large curved dildo. She pressed against Barbara's back again, kissing her neck, then licking up and around her ear.

  The dildo moved between her buttocks, between her thighs. It parted the soft labia and probed her vagina. Hands crept around her body, one grasping a breast, the other going back to working on her clit.

  'Are you going to come for me?' Sandra whispered in her ear.

  Barbara felt the dildo being forced into her sex. At the same time Sandra's tongue circled her ear, her finger teased her clit and her hand squeezed her breasts, making the nipple clips bite deeper. Sandra used her hips to push the dildo deep, then made the tip circle in the depths of Barbara's pussy, producing new shocks of sweet bliss.

  Barbara was going to come. It was shameful that Jack, once again, should read her so well, that he
knew her better than she knew herself. She had no idea she would be so excited by a woman's touch. But he had known.

  She looked at his erect cock as the feelings in her sex became too much to ignore, and she came, in Sandra's embrace, being fucked by her from behind.

  Dreamily she opened her eyes, her heavy breathing easing.

  Jack was lying on the bed, and Sandra was kneeling between his legs, his cock in her mouth. He pushed her away and moved around behind her, gripping her by the hips.

  'Yes, yes,' Sandra urged, pushing back against him. 'Fuck me.'

  And Jack did. Barbara watched as his cock sank into Sandra's body, and came out glistening with her juices. She saw the girl tremble and her head arch back, stretching the tendons of her throat. She had never done this, never watched another couple fucking.

  Sandra's hand slipped between her own legs, and Barbara knew she was frotting her clit. Sandra opened her mouth, moaned, and went rigid. Jack didn't stop fucking her, but looked across at Barbara. Their eyes met. His expression was clear. He was her master and he could do and would do anything he wanted with her, put her through any humiliation or degradation, because he knew that's what she wanted.

  Chapter Seven

  They led me down the corridor. For once my bondage was comparatively light. My ankles were shackled into leather cuffs and joined by a chain which meant I could only shuffle as I walked, and my hands were cuffed behind my back, but that felt like a degree of freedom compared to the usual bed bondage and leather corset.

  I was bathed and dried in the usual manner, then instructed to put on a red rubber catsuit. I had never worn rubber before, and Madam Celine had to demonstrate how to use talcum powder to ease the skin-tight rubber over my body. The catsuit had holes to expose my breasts and sex. The smell and feel of it clinging to my skin was exciting, and my nipples were erect, my vagina moist. A red rubber hood replaced the usual leather one.

  I was following Madam Celine. She was dressed in a tight crop-top of black leather, a black leather miniskirt, black tights and black boots. I could not help but enjoy the sensual movement of her hips as she walked. After the treatment I'd received at Tony's hands I seemed prone to even the slightest provocation, and the idea of pushing my face between her strong thighs and licking the secret female flesh nestling between them was making my clit hard.

  I had slept badly. I fought sleep for as long as I could, afraid that Madam M's treatment would somehow gain control and wipe my memory more fully. Eventually I fell asleep and dreamt about Tony. We were at a dinner party where all the other guests were women.

  There hadn't been any food, but Tony walked around the table while one woman after another took it in turn to suck his cock, protruding from his trousers. Then we were in an odd sort of concrete room and I was lying on a bed with a naked woman kneeling between my legs and one straddling my face, while Tony stood over me watching. Then the man was not Tony, but Jack.

  I woke with a start, afraid that I'd succumbed to whatever they planned for me, but I knew at once that I hadn't because I remembered my name and everything that had happened to me. It was a huge relief.

  Madam Celine led me into a room with a wooden floor and white walls, with various pieces of equipment. The walls were hung with metal rings and leather harnesses, clearly intended to bind a victim in various positions.

  Some of the equipment was in use. There were six slaves, two men and four women, bound securely into the odd contraptions, while Madam Angel and another overseer I had not seen before patrolled the room, a riding crop in hand, delivering severe rebukes if the slaves were not performing to their satisfaction. The slaves were dressed as I was in rubber catsuits, their intimate bits exposed.

  I was led to one of the machines. It looked like a school desk with a bench seat and a sloping top. I was made to slide into the bench and then Madam Celine took a silver chain and ran it through my nipple rings. There was a metal ring attached to the bottom edge of the desktop, the chain threaded through it and padlocked in place.

  The object in the middle of the desk looked like a partly inflated balloon.

  'Take it in your mouth,' Madam Celine said.

  I had no idea what was going on, but leant forward and sucked it into my mouth. It smelt strong. I heard a whining noise and the rubber started to inflate. The whining noise stopped.

  'Now squeeze the air out.'

  I tried to use my tongue to press against the rubber, but with little success.

  'Harder,' Madam Celine ordered. She reinforced her message with a flick of her whip against my upper arm.

  I tried to press against the rubber and felt it give slightly. But when I relaxed the pressure for a moment it re-inflated. I realised I needed to use constant pressure to get any results, but it was hard and I couldn't really make any impression on it.

  Suddenly the rubber deflated.

  'Again,' Madam Celine ordered.

  I caught my breath before the rubber swelled up again. This time I managed to press it back a little before it deflated, then re-inflated again.

  By the time I had done this three times I was sweating inside the catsuit. My tongue ached and my jaw muscles were getting cramp.

  'Again,' was all she said.

  Sweat beaded my forehead as I laboured on the rubber balloon. I had little time to watch what the other slaves were doing, but it was difficult not to miss the fact that one of the females was unstrapped from the particular machine she had been exercising on, suspended by her wrist cuffs from chains in the ceiling and given six strokes across her buttocks by the other two mistresses, before being placed back on the machine.

  There was little doubt in my mind what would happen if I was deemed to be slacking, but fortunately Madam Celine appeared satisfied.

  'You'll do better tomorrow,' she said. She removed the balloon thing from the desk and screwed a lever into a small hole in its place. 'Now use your tongue. Up and down first, then side to side. You are not allowed to use your lips.'

  I pushed the lever with my tongue. Like the balloon the resistance was much greater than I'd expected. I managed to push it forward then back again, though I cheated and used my lips a little.

  'Do not disobey me,' Madam Celine hissed. She slashed the crop down across the top of my buttocks.

  I struggled. With only my tongue I could hardly move the lever at all. Madam Celine was not impressed, but unhooked the chain and pulled me to my feet. I was taken to another piece of equipment. It looked a bit like the crossbar of a bicycle, with a handle at each end. She clipped my nipple chain to the centre of it, then unhooked the clip that joined my cuffs.

  'Grip the handles and squeeze,' she said.

  I did as I was told.

  'Harder,' she snapped.

  I was made to squeeze the handles ten times. I don't think I managed to compress the rubber at all, but Madam Celine seemed satisfied with my efforts.

  The nipple chain was released and I was made to bend over what looked like a small vaulting horse with a padded top and four legs. My wrist cuffs were chained to rings in the floor just in front of the horse, and my ankle cuffs were attached to its rear legs making it impossible for me to move. Madam Celine inserted a thin metal rod between my lips. At the end of the rod was a metal weight. She told me to hold it, which at first seemed easy but slowly my lips tired and it took more and more effort to keep the rod from falling. After three or four minutes it was impossible to maintain my grip, and the rod slid out and fell to the floor. I was rewarded with another sharp thwack of the whip, before the rod was reinserted.

  She moved behind me, and from my upside down view I saw her pick up another rod, again with a metal weight attached at one end. She slowly slid it into my vagina.

  'Hold it there,' she ordered.

  I squeezed my inner muscles, but the rod began to slide out. I squeezed my pussy harder, knowing I would get a stroke of the whip if I failed, but gravity took its toll and the weight fell to the floor. A stinging pain across my buttocks w
as my reward.

  I was made to repeat the exercise ten times, and ten times Madam Celine punished me for what she regarded as failure.

  Freeing my cuffs she led me over to where another narrower horse stood. The top was about three inches wide and covered in black PVC, and a stout black rubber phallus projected from the middle. There was a dial on the wall and a lever beside it.

  Madam Celine took a small jar from a shelf, poured some lubricant into her palm, then massaged it over the phallus.

  'Sit on it,' she said, indicating the slippery implement.

  I straddled the horse and felt the phallus nudge between my sex lips. I adjusted by position, then lowered myself onto it. With the lubricant she had applied and the juices the previous exercise had created there was no resistance.

  With athletic ease she dropped to her haunches. There were two metal rings in the floor on either side of the horse, and she pulled my ankle cuffs, stretching my legs out to attach the cuffs to the rings. This forced me down even further onto the dildo, and made it impossible for me to lift up.

  'Now squeeze,' she said. She operated the lever on the wall beside the machine, and I felt the phallus swelling inside me. Reflexively my internal muscles squeezed. I saw the needle on the dial flicker, and the swelling of the phallus stopped.

  'Again,' Madam Celine said.

  She made me repeat the exercise twenty times, and the purpose of them was quite clear. They were designed to increase the response of muscles that could be used to please the men who would become our masters. Not only were we being trained to be obedient, we were also to be returned with new sexual skills and abilities.

  The rest of the morning was spent in more conventional exercises. I was made to run on the spot and do press-ups and pull-ups, and several other exercises. Any slacking was greeted with further strokes of the riding crop.

  By the end I was exhausted and my buttocks were sore. At any time I could have revealed that I knew perfectly well who I was and what they were doing to me. But what would happen then? The chances were I would be taken to Madam M, and this time whatever conditioning she applied would be successful and I would really become the submissive zombie they intended. My only choice at the moment was to go along with what they wanted, while at the same time looking for an opportunity to escape.